


you can't take me (i'm free)

by kadaransmuggler



Series: the dawn will come [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Parent/Child Reunion, Surana doesn't like Cullen, Surana had a daughter, The Chantry sucks, fuck actual timelines i'll make my own
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9094738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kadaransmuggler/pseuds/kadaransmuggler
Summary: Neria Surana, the Hero of Ferelden, will never be able to take back what the Circle took from her, or the years she lost because of them, but she thinks there are worse ways it could have ended.





	

            It is three years after the Fifth Blight ends that her magic manifests. She is seven years old, an elven girl raised in the Chantry cloister, orphaned or given up or stolen long ago. This had always been a fear of hers, this magic that sparks beneath her skin. She knows what happens to mages, and she knows what happens to elves, so when she sets her curtains on fire in the middle of an argument with another child she knows that life will not be kind to her. She finds the revelation is almost freeing.

            The sisters and the templars take a while to make their choice. Where to move her to, when to move her, how to move her, and it takes them long enough that she is able to climb out her window that night and disappear. She’d snuck into the larders, taken as much bread and cheese and water as she could carry, and she ran. She didn’t know where she was going or what could happen, but she knew she would not look back. She is sure she will be found at any moment, hunted down and clapped in irons and hauled off to the tower in the middle of the lake, the one that rises tall and imposing, the one that haunted her dreams since she was four years old. She thinks the risk is worth it.

            She is not caught, although she spends the next year always waiting for the glint of silver armor in her peripheral vision.

* * *

            She lasts four entire days before she runs out of food and it will only be another before she runs out of water. She has no idea where she is, only that she is lost in the middle of the woods. She hears things, sometimes, twigs snapping behind her or ahead of her and she is only terrified until she realizes it is not the templars come to take her. She falls asleep underneath a tree, curled around her pack amongst the roots.

            She wakes to an elven boy staring at her, a small bow clutched in his hand.

* * *

            The boy takes her to Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan. It takes her three days before her fear has faded enough for her to tell Deshanna her name, and a week longer to tell the kind-faced Keeper with the strange tattoos her story.

            “Well, Lorelei, I think the Chantry is just silly. Magic is a precious gift,” Deshanna tells her, once the child has finished telling her the story. The child had started crying in the middle, tears trickling silently down her face as she stubbornly wiped them away. Deshanna let the child come to her before pulling her into a hug, hiding her face in the girl’s long brown hair as she blinks away tears of her own.

* * *

            Lorelei begins to train. Deshanna was the only other mage in Clan Lavellan, and Lorelei learns that she is not a monster for the world to fear. She learns and she grows and she makes friends in the Clan. She is happy and she is free, and she decides that it is worth whatever price she will have to pay later.

            She stays with the Clan. There was never any choice in that- leaving was either certain death or probable capture. She goes with them when they move, running from the sickness the Blight has left behind and the death that it was caused. She settles into her new place, her new purpose, and she feels like it is a victory when the shores of Ferelden disappear over the horizon.

            The templars never find her. She learns that the Hero of Ferelden is an elven mage, a woman that Lorelei hopes to meet one day.

* * *

            Ten years pass. It is a peaceful ten years, more or less. She takes June’s alternate vallaslin, thinking there is something to honor in craft. And so Lorelei learns and grows and Clan Lavellan thrives until a mage in the city destroys a Chantry, and then they are running and Lorelei is back to looking over her shoulder for the glint of silver armor. It never comes. The call for the Conclave does.

            It is a blessing, in many ways. The war is hurting everyone, people are dying in the crossfire and mages and templars alike have gone mad with power and freedom and anger and rage. There’s another mage in the Clan now, Deshanna’s Second, and Lorelei thinks they can spare her long enough so she makes her case and she is only a little surprised when Deshanna agrees.

* * *

            There is an explosion of green and agony and then Lorelei dreams. She remembers a woman and robes like the ones she hid behind when she was a child. She is running, and then she is falling, and the world is blessedly black around her. When she wakes, it is slowly, her senses trickling back one by one and the first thing she is aware of is that she is bound. She thinks maybe the templars have found her anyway, when there is no Circle left to leave her in. The next thing she notices is the damp of the dungeons and the sound of water dripping before there is a throbbing pain in her hand and a flare of green on her palm.

            A Seeker barges in, threatens her, and Lorelei carefully starts to piece together the mystery of what happened. As a Keeper, she is good at that. She only ever has part of the story, part of the answer, and she must do her best to patch it together.

            In the end, she is named the herald of the bride of a god she doesn’t believe in. She is given new armor and new clothes and she is part of a brand new military movement, authorized by the late Divine. She wonders if she will ever be free from the suffocating influence of the humans.

* * *

            When she is given the choice, she goes after the templars. She brings them to heel quickly, turning them from the order she feared into a weapon she wields. She thinks there is a templar among them she recognizes. He does not recognize her.

            The Breach doesn’t stand a chance, not against her with the templars at her back, and when the Elder One attacks the only thing she feels is a deep, primal rage. “I will not yield,” she snarls, and there is only a whimper that escapes when he throws her, her ribs cracking and her shoulder popping out of place. She forces herself to stand, to move, it is not long after that she drops a mountain on the bastard’s head.

            She wakes up underground, her body screaming in pain and she doesn’t think she has ever been this _cold_. The mark on her hand flares and she struggles through the tunnels, through the snow, and she collapses just as she sees the light of what remains of the Inquisition. The world is dark and painless again, and when she wakes up she is content to let herself drift just on the edge of consciousness. Her advisors are arguing and her body is mostly healed. She doesn’t know how long she has been asleep, but she knows that she is ready to wake when the argument reaches its pitch.

            Solas leads them to Skyhold. They name her Inquisitor and she wonders what her Clan would think if they could see her now.

* * *

            Leliana is the one who brings the idea up. “We could contact the Hero of Ferelden. She made many interesting alliances while I traveled with her, and her insight would be valuable.”

            Lorelei wonders if this is her chance to finally meet the Hero. “Very well. I’ll have a letter for you to send off by noon. You can prepare one of your own to send, as well,” she tells her, giving her orders and making her plans before nodding curtly and disappearing upstairs. It takes her three hours before she is satisfied with the letter, and even then she thinks of dozens of mistakes after handing it over to Leliana.

* * *

            They do not receive a letter back from the Hero until several weeks have passed. Even then, it is brief and curt while Neria tells them to prepare a room for her. Lorelei cannot help but be disappointed with the short curtness of the letter, even though she knows the Hero has a long way to go. She prepares the room herself.

* * *

            Days before Neria’s arrival, Lorelei flits around nervously. The Hero has seen much, done much, and Lorelei doubts she will ever measure up to it. She wonders what she will be like, what she will look like, what she will expect from the Inquisition. Lorelei has done her best to turn it into a driving force- she has played the courts at Halamshiral, wrapping an empire around her fingers, and she has made much progress in working towards a siege of Adamant fortress. She thinks perhaps she should be more nervous about that, but she cannot find it in her. Morrigan smiles to herself in the gardens, a hand resting on her son’s shoulder as she tells him that an old friend will visit them soon. She shared brief, polite words with Loghain while he was there, but neither of them wanted the other’s company. Skyhold waits, heavy with tension.

* * *

            Neria grumbles the entire way up the steps. A group of soldiers greeted them at the bottom, sending them up, but she and Zevran are left to make the long walk alone. “Who the hell builds a castle so high up?” she asks, her breath puffing in the air. Zevran laughs, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

            “Ah, _mi amore_ , it is not so bad! At least we know it is well defended,” he tells her. Neria smiles fondly, even as she draws her cloak tighter around herself, the cold making her shiver.

            “Do you really think it’s her?” she asks, her voice low. She keeps her eyes on the ground, of the steps in front of her, but he knows her well enough to know how scared she is. He has not seen her this way since the Landsmeet, nearly fourteen years ago. He draws her closer against his side, offering whatever comfort he can give.

            “Lorelei is not such a common name, and she is elven. It’s highly possible,” he tells her, cautiously. He feels some of the tension leave her shoulders, feels her pressing as close as she comfortably can. He knows the power that hope can have.

            “The age is right, as well, if Leliana’s report is to be believed,” Neria adds, desperate to convince herself, desperate to believe.

            “How will you know it is her?” Zevran asks. He thinks maybe he shouldn’t have, maybe this will make her feel worse, make the tension cling closer. Neria shrugs.

            “I might not. Leliana probably already knows,” she says, and Zevran cannot hide his smile.

            “The Left Hand is fond of her secrets, isn’t she?” he asks, and Neria hums in agreement as they reach the top of the stairs. Inquisition soldiers are lined up, here, and there are more on the battlements. She can see the Inquisitor waiting with her team of advisors just beyond the portcullis, in Skyhold proper. As they get closer, she recognizes Cullen as well. She shares a look with Zevran and he steps back, giving her space.

            In a single moment, everything that she was before melts away. She straightens her spine and holds her head high, her cloak fluttering behind her now. She is every inch the Hero of Ferelden, a careful and calculating leader. She does not let her eyes move onto the Inquisitor, not yet. Instead, she keeps her gaze locked with Cullen’s. The last time she had seen him he had been begging her to destroy her fellow mages. She does not falter.

            “I suppose you go by Commander, now, Cullen,” she greets coolly, and she can see how heavily he has to swallow. She will not forget what he has done; she will not forgive the blood on his hands. She has seen the reports. She knows of Kirkwall.

            “Yes, I do. It is…good to see you again,” he says. She holds his gaze for another heartbeat before letting it slide to Leliana.

            “I wish I could say the same,” she murmurs, just loud enough for him to hear, and she thinks his flinch is a victory.

            She greets Leliana much more warmly, with a hug and a smile before she turns briefly to Morrigan. It is only then that she lets her gaze drift over to the Inquisitor. She lets out a deep breath, reaching behind her for Zevran’s hand in a moment of weakness that she so rarely allows herself.

            “Hello, Inquisitor. We have much to discuss,” she says, her features softening.

            “A meeting has been set up in the war room, but if you’d like we can retire to my quarters for the time being. It is likely much more comfortable,” Lorelei offers, and she wonders why the woman in front of her looks at her so fondly.

            “Yes, I’d like that. Zevran, go with Leliana, would you?” she asks, squeezing his hand. He leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.

            “Of course, _mi amore_ ,” he tells her. She gives him a grateful look before she is following the Inquisitor through the fortress.

* * *

            Her rooms are spacious. It is fitting for an Inquisitor, less so for a Dalish elf. There are few personal items in the room, nothing that will let her know what kind of person the Inquisitor is. “I don’t quite know how to tell you this,” she begins, as Lorelei busies herself pouring the tea. The girl still cannot believe that the Hero is still so young. Leliana had told her, of course, that Neria had been her age when the Blight began, but she hadn’t reconciled it with the image she had in her head of the Hero.

            “Tell me what?” she asks, her big eyes wide, and Neria’s heart aches as she realizes that she is still a child, the same age she was when she stood in front of the Landsmeet. She wonders when the world will stop thrusting power on those too young. She doubts that it ever will.

            “I came from Kinloch, in Ferelden. I left before the Circle fell, heading to Ostagar,” she tells the girl, shifting in her seat as she thinks of her time there.

            “Oh? I never knew that. I only knew that you were an elven mage, like me,” Lorelei answers, sitting in the chair across from her. Her fingers tap against the underside of it, far too anxious to be still.

            “I’m sure you can imagine what the experience of a Circle is like. Leliana told me you ran away when your magic manifest and found the Dalish,” she continues, and it is a bitter taste in her mouth that the words leave. She is glad her daughter had better than her, but it is an old anger that rises when she thinks of what could have been.

            “Yes. I’d always been afraid of being sent to one. The sisters in the Chantry made the whole thing sound horrific,” Lorelei agrees. She wonders where Neria is going with this.

            “You likely don’t know the half of it, and for that I’m grateful. I had a child, a daughter, when I was sixteen. I barely had time to name her before she was taken from me. They gave her to the Chantry, of course. I tried to stop them, but I…I was still weak from the birth and I hadn’t even been through my Harrowing yet. I’ve always wondered about her,” she admitted, and she wonders if the truth of it will ever hurt any less than it does now.

            “That’s awful! What name did you give her? Do you know if they let her keep it? Perhaps we could use Inquisition resources to find her,” Lorelei offers, immediately, as she leans forward. Neria only gives her a small, sad smile.

            “That may not be necessary, Inquisitor. You share her name,” she tells her, and there is finally space for her to _breathe_ once the words are out. There is a moment before the shock registers and then Lorelei is leaning back with the force of it, her fingers stilling as they grip the edge of the chair.

            “I…Are you suggesting…?” she asks, and she isn’t even able to get the words out. She notices then that Neria is crying, tears she wipes away stubbornly.

            “I am, yes. It fits, is all. You have her name, the story matches, the ages match, and I’d like to think there’s some resemblance between us,” Neria says. Lorelei takes a deep breath, and then another.

            “You’re my mother. All this time, and it was you?” she asks, and Neria nods slowly. She is almost wary now, afraid of whatever reaction Lorelei might have. But the girl only stands and walks to the window, looking out over the snow-covered mountains.

            “I’ve never hated the Chantry more than I do right now,” Lorelei admits, the words escaping in a rush of air. She doesn’t hear Neria’s chair scraping against the floor before she- her mother- is there, wrapping her arms around her. Lorelei turns in her embrace and buries her face in the crook of her neck, taking deep shuddering breaths as she fights back tears.

            “I cannot make up the time that they have stolen from us. But I’m here now, as the Hero and as your mother, if you’ll have me,” Neria promises as Lorelei pulls back. She takes a moment to memorize her face- the same sharp cheekbones that she has, the wide golden eyes, the artful dark lines that her vallaslin make.

            “I’d be honored,” Lorelei says, and she stops holding back the tears, letting them fall freely. Neria pulls her into a hug again, and she doesn’t think she’ll ever have a name for what she is feeling.

* * *

            They are not close from the beginning, of course. Life isn’t a fairytale and Lorelei and Neria are still strangers. At first, Lorelei sees more of the brilliant tactician her mother has become, a long way from the scared and frightened girl who had stood at the Landsmeet all those years ago. Neria sees more of the Inquisitor than she does her daughter, but there are moments they can steal in between, when she is not _the Hero_ and she isn’t _Inquisitor_. They can take the time to be _mother_ and _child_. Sometimes Neria stays up at night, pacing through the long hallways, and she thinks that it has all ended better than she ever could have hoped. She still hates the Chantry, hates the Circle, hates that they were able to take anything at all from her, but there are times when she will catch a glimpse of a grin on her daughter’s face and she will think that there are worse ways it could have ended.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a very specific timeline for this. 
> 
> Two years before the Blight, Neria was sixteen, she gave birth to Lorelei, making the child two at the start of the Blight and Neria eighteen. It took two years to stop the Blight, making Lorelei four, and this fic starts three years later, when she is seven. She is with Clan Lavellan for ten years, when everything is taking place in Kirkwall, and when the Conclave is called she is seventeen. It takes a year between the start of Inquisition to the 'half-way mark' where Wicked Eyes and Here Lies the Abyss are (mostly) done, making her eighteen then. Neria is thirty-two, and fourteen years have passed. Unless my math is bad.


End file.
